


Past Lives

by EiraLloyd



Series: Family Ties [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Twins, Gen, Heavy Rain AU, Mentioned Cole Anderson, RK900 is called Ryan, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EiraLloyd/pseuds/EiraLloyd
Summary: One moment. That's all it takes. One moment, and your life is changed, forever. These are Kara, Connor, Hank, and Markus's moments.





	1. Kara

Kara flinches.

            The shot is loud enough to make her ears ring, and yet she can still hear Alice’s panicked scream in the background.

            Time slows; she breathes in, opens her eyes.

            Gunpowder has a dusty smell to it, yet it’s a lot more metallic than she thought it would be. It spreads across her vision like a cloud, blurring it even more than it already was. She didn’t expect this at all when she picked up the gun five seconds ago.

            Then again, she’s never held a gun before, let alone fired one. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

            Now she knows.

            Todd stares at her, eyes wide and disbelieving.

            She pulls the trigger again.

            She flinches.

            Her hands move automatically, unable to keep still when the recoil kicks in.

            Alice screams again.

            Another pause; another deep breath.

            Another shot.

            A final scream.

           Todd falls to the ground, all life leaving him. Blood pours from his wounds, staining the wooden floor. Kara doesn’t move, hands trembling, breathing in the metallic scent of gunpowder and fire.

            Behind her, Alice starts crying.

         Kara might be in shock, but she’s smart enough to know that a loaded weapon is always dangerous. She delicately leaves the gun on the table next to her, and turns towards her daughter.

           “It’s okay.” She tries to sound reassuring, but her voice breaks, and she nearly coughs when a mouthful of gunpowder enters her mouth. “It’s okay, Alice. He won’t hurt you anymore. He’ll never hurt you again.”

            Alice hesitates, eyes flickering between her and Todd’s body in pure horror.

            Kara is terrified.

            Eventually, the little girl hugs her, tears flowing freely.

            The young woman wipes them away. “Come, now, Alice. Don’t cry, not yet. We need to get out of here first.”

           Her ears are still ringing from the three consecutive shots as she manages to put the safety back on the pistol, before tucking it away in the inside pocket of her jacket. She grabs a piece of cloth she uses to clean all traces of Alice and her from the house — they arrived a couple of hours ago, but haven’t touched much. Todd doesn’t like — never _liked_ it when people touched his things.

            Even his family.

            _If family treats each other like shit, and beats each other up for no reason than pleasure, then I’d rather have no family at all._

            A glance at Alice.

            _Alice… she’s family. She’s the only family I will ever have._

            It doesn’t sound nearly as bad as it should.

            Alice is oddly quiet as they leave.

           They check into a motel — with cash, of course, Kara is in shock, but that doesn’t make her an idiot —, where both take showers, taking care of scrubbing their skin and hair clean of whatever traces of gunpowder they might have left. There can be no trace left, or else…

            Kara refuses to think about that outcome.

            Alice is still quiet as she tucks her in, and doesn’t ask for a bedtime story. Unusual, but the young woman doesn’t blame her. She’s gone through so much in the span of one afternoon — too much, perhaps.

          She should never have brought Alice to Todd. She should have left that bastard behind her long ago, when she left for a higher degree, for a better life. Alice shouldn’t have had to endure the same treatment she had when she was younger.

            Kara blames herself. She should have noticed he was beating her up. How could she not notice?

           The next day, she drives to another part of town and drops their gunpowder-filled clothes in a random dumpster. She manages to tear the gun apart piece by piece, and drives around the city, disposing of each different part in a different dumpster.

            Her hands shake whenever she picks up each piece.

            Her ears haven’t stopped ringing since.

            Her heart is pounding as fast as it had when she’d pulled the trigger.

            They have to leave. They _need_ to leave this all behind. But they can’t do it immediately — the police will easily suspect them if they leave town.

           And Alice is still too shell-shocked to do anything. She can barely move, barely eat. Kara can’t help but worry. It’s all her fault; she should’ve been more careful — _she should’ve done more_.

            Once the coast is clear — as clear as it will ever get —, Kara starts looking for a new job.

            And she finds one, in another city, in another state.

            Philadelphia sounds far enough.

            Alice doesn’t complain — but then again, she has said little since the incident. She refuses to speak to anyone but Kara, and even then it’s not much at all.

           Maybe this move will do both of them good. Maybe a new life is exactly what they need. Detroit never brought them anything good — except, perhaps, each other. But does that really count, considering Kara let her own daughter down for so many years?

            It’s time to move on.

            They deserve a new life.

            A better life.


	2. Connor

Connor hesitates. His bags are neatly packed and ready to go. He’s taking everything of value with him — everything else, he’s leaving behind. He doesn’t know what will happen to it — maybe Ryan will keep it, or Amanda will throw it away. Either way, he should say goodbye to them, to this room — to this house, in general.

            After all, he’s never coming back.

            The place is empty — Amanda and Ryan are gone, checking the campus of one of the many universities that accepted him into their international relations program.

            It feels cowardly, to leave this way. Guilt clutches at his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

            But he has to go — he will suffocate if he doesn’t. He’s already suffocating.

           There’s nothing for him left here — he’s taking everything he cares about, and he has a plan. He knows what he’s going to do, and how. He’s not lost, not running away, and certainly not leaving on a whim.

            But then why does it feel like betrayal?

            He can picture his twin’s grey eyes filled with hurt — with the same betrayal that threatens to drown him as he finishes closing his bags.

            There’s no turning back. Not from this.

            “I’m sorry, Ryan.” The words, though whispered, leave a sour taste in his mouth.

            It’s time to go.

            He doesn’t want to.

            Yes, he does.

            _I’m going to miss Ryan._

_He’s going to hate you when he realises you’ve left._

_I know._

_You couldn’t even say goodbye to his face._

_I know._

_You’re a coward._

_I am._

Ryan wouldn’t do it like this. If he were to leave — he wouldn’t; he’s too loyal to Amanda —, he would say it to his face, perhaps even offer to bring him along.

            But Connor was never as strong as him.

            _You’re not good enough._

_Shut up. Shutupshutupshutup._

It doesn’t. Amanda’s voice remains.

            He grabs his bags mechanically, scans his room one last time to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, then leaves.

            He leaves the door wide open.

            He checks every other room of the house before he finally heads to the front door, heart pounding, hands sweating.

            _Coward_.

            He locks the door and slips the key under the Welcome mat.

            _Coward._

            He takes in a shaky breath, that worsens his nerves instead of relaxing them.

            _Coward._

_You’re not good enough._

_Ryan will hate you._

_This is why Amanda never loved you._

He needs to get away, now. The thoughts might get worse for now, but it’s nothing compared to how it would be if he stayed.

            He can’t stay.

            He needs to leave.

            He makes to get rid of his cell phone — throw it into the first bin he sees —, but he can’t help himself.

            _I’m sorry, Ryan. We’ll talk again, I promise._

            He sends the text, considers waiting for a reply.

            He throws the phone away, before he can change his mind, then runs.

            He runs and runs and runs. He can’t do anything else but run. He’s trying to run away from the only home he’s ever known — the cage he’s always been locked in.

            His brother deserves better than him. They both deserve better than Amanda.

            Either way, Ryan loses.

            Maybe one day, he’ll be brave enough to contact his brother — to apologise for leaving him behind. Maybe one day, he’ll explain that he didn’t stay, didn’t ask him because he knew his twin would never leave. Maybe one day, he’ll admit to his brother that he would have stayed if he’d asked him to. Maybe one day, he’ll be strong enough to recognise that he could never handle rejection, especially from his twin, his only family.

            But until then, he runs.

            _I’m sorry, Ryan._

_We’ll see each other again._

_I promise._


	3. Hank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Suicidal thoughts towards the end of the chapter.

The sirens are loud. He hears them over the ringing of his ears. His eyes are heavy — feel like lead — and it takes every ounce of strength he has in his body to open them. The sky is spinning.

            Why is the sky spinning?

            He can barely process what’s going on around him — people speaking but making no sense, their jumbled words resembling nonsensical babble more than real words.

            His ears are ringing.

            The sky is spinning.

            Maybe if he closes his eyes for a little while, he’ll feel better.

            But just for a little while.

 

***

 

A steady beeping wakes him up. It sounds familiar, but he can’t quite place it. His jumbled mind scrambles for a reference, something that will tell him how he knows it, and what it represents.

            He comes up with nothing.

            His eyes are heavier than they were before he closed them.

            So is the rest of his body. He doesn’t recall how it felt before his nap, but now it feels like a weight that keeps going down down down down…

            And he lets it pull him down.

 

***

 

The beeping is still there when he regains consciousness. This time, he’s more aware, his mind is less jumbled, though still somewhat messy. But now he remembers: it’s the steady beeping of hospital machines.

            Is he in a hospital? Or did he fall asleep in the couch again, and Cole has put on some medical drama?

            His body is still heavy. His eyes refuse to open.

            Let Cole keep watching his medical dramas. He’ll have a short nap instead.

 

***

 

His eyes snap open at the third beep. A brilliant white fills his vision — nearly blinding him. For a moment, the ceiling spins, and his stomach squirms, but everything regains balance after a few seconds. He blinks, trying to take it all in.

            He’s in a hospital.

            How did he get here?

            The last thing he remembers is…

            Driving.

            The truck.

            Cole.

            He smashes the button to call the nurse.

            She’s inside his room in less than two minutes.

            “Good, you’re awake. I’m going to get the doctor.”

            “Where’s Cole?”

            “Where’s…?”

            “My son. Cole.”

            Her face changes. He hates the look on her face.

            “Maybe you should wait until—”

            “ _Where is my son?!_ ”

            That pity right there — he hates it. He can’t bear to look at her.

            “ _Out with it!_ ”

            “I’m sorry, sir.”

            No.

            “Your son… He didn’t make it.”

            No.

            No, it can’t be true.

            “The surgery was unsuccessful.”

            Shut up. Don’t fucking say another fucking word.

            “I am very, very sorry.”

            “ _Out!_ ”

            She leaves.

            He closes his eyes, trying to shield himself against the white of the room — it mocks him, a reminder that he is very much alive, unlike his son. Unlike Cole. The lighting’s artificial — as unnatural as his situation.

            A father should never outlive his child.

            But he has.

            He’s failed.

            He wishes darkness would take him this time, far away, to another place where he won’t have to live with this reminder.

            A place where he won’t have to live — period.

            But he doesn’t get his wish.

            The light is there, and the beeping’s steady.


	4. Markus

The key turns far too easy. It’s weird — he didn’t leave his apartment unlocked, he knows. He always makes sure of that — you can never be too careful —, and he _knows_ he also made sure of it that morning before he left for work.

            Someone must be inside.

            But the lock is in perfect conditions, and the key fits perfectly.

            It must be someone he gave a copy of the key to.

            But North is still deployed overseas, and Josh is working on a story on the other side of the country.

            Carl never drops by unannounced, though if he left a message on his landline, then it’s no wonder he’s not expecting his arrival.

            That leaves Simon and Leo as more plausible explanations.

            He saw the former in the morning, so he doesn’t expect a visit from him, especially without a previous warning. And the latter never visits — the last time he saw him was at Carl’s Christmas dinner, last year.

            He opens the door quickly, hoping for the best, yet bracing himself for the worst.

            It’s Leo.

            He’s searching through his stuff, making a mess of his apartment. That’s… unsettling, though, if he stops and thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. It’s clearly the act of a desperate man.

            But he doesn’t have time to stop and think about it.

            Leo’s about to rip one of his paintings.

            “Leo, what are you doing?” he asks, trying to sound firm, but comes off as confused and hurt instead.

            And he _is_ hurt, but he hadn’t planned on letting the other man know that.

            “I… I just…” He trips and stammers, knife falling from his shaky hand. He didn’t expect to get caught. He didn’t expect to face consequences. He thought he could just get in, grab whatever he wanted, and get out unnoticed.

            Markus’s blood boils.

            “You just what?”

            “I _need_ money, okay? And dad refused to give me some.”

            “And that’s why you came to my place and started ripping my paintings?” He raises his voice. He hates raising his voice.

            “I didn’t _mean_ to, okay? It’s just… You were taking so _long_ , and I _really_ need the—”

            “Money, I get it. To fuel your drug habit, I’m sure.”

            The entire Manfred family is aware of Leo’s drug problem, but it’s a taboo subject — one they absolutely never speak of.

            The young man’s face changes.

            Markus has crossed a line.

            Then again, Leo crossed it a long time ago, and pretending doesn’t do anyone any good.

            The young man laughs. It’s a harsh, defeated laugh that makes the journalist tense. “See? _This_ is why I didn’t wait for you to come back. You’re _just like dad_. You wouldn’t have given me money if I’d asked.”

            That’s true, he wouldn’t have. But the way he says it gives Markus the need to defend his actions — hypothetical actions, but still.

            “Red ice is bad for you, Leo. Can’t you see that? I refuse to contribute to a habit that’s slowly killing you.”

            Another harsh, sarcastic laugh. “Of course. Saint Markus never does _anything_ wrong and _always_ knows what’s best for everyone. You _really_ are just like dad. No wonder you’re his favourite. The _perfect_ son.”

            “Leo—”

            He gets closer. Starts pushing him. Markus doesn’t fall, quickly recovers balance. “ _Dad_ likes chess? So does _Markus_.” Push. “ _Dad_ likes music? _Markus_ learns to play the piano.” Push.

            “Leo, stop it.”

            “ _Dad_ ’s a painter? _Markus_ starts painting too.” Push. “ _Dad_ cares about politics and shit? _Markus_ becomes a journalist.” Push.

            “Leo, that’s enough!”

            “ _Why_? Too afraid to push back, you _coward_? Then again, _dad_ hates violence, doesn’t he? So _you_ hate violence too.” He throws a punch — Markus is too slow to dodge.

            His jaw hurts.

            “Leo—”

            “Too scared to fight _back_ , huh? No surprise there.” Another punch. This time, Markus dodges.

            “Leo, _stop_ —”

            “Dad’s _perfect_ son, not even bothering to _defend_ himself. This is _gold_.” He laughs. “What would everyone say now? I mean, _dad_ would be proud, I’m sure. But I’m not mad, no. I mean, it’s only fair. After all, your _real_ parents clearly didn’t give a _shit_ about you anyway—”

            Markus snaps. He shoves Leo with all his strength.

            _Crack_.

            Silence.

            “Leo?”

            He doesn’t see it at first. Blood, pooling around Leo’s head.

            “Leo?”

            His voice trembles. He kneels next to the young man — next to his brother.

            There’s no answer.

            Markus knows better than to shake him.

            With trembling fingers, he grasps for his cell phone, nearly dropping it twice as he pulls it out of his pocket and dials 911. He’s crying as he makes the phone call, his entire body shaking.

            Later, once the ambulance is gone and the police have taken his statement, he will return to his apartment, and start shaking as soon as he spots the pool of dried blood on the floor. He will avoid all mirrors, refusing to see his reflection, and will avoid looking at his hands as well — the hands that pushed Leo so hard he sent him to the hospital. He will listen to a new voicemail on his landline and realise that it’s Carl — warning him about his son’s quest for money, and that his apartment might be his next stop. And he will cry again, not bothering to erase the message from his answering machine.

            But for now, he remains next to Leo’s unmoving form, still crying and shaking, whispering the same words over and over, as if that would make everything better.

            “I’m sorry, brother. _I’m so sorry_.”


End file.
